Because I Love You ~

Chapter 5: Marinette - The White Rose

A memoir from Senkath's journey back home across town, depicted as the thoughts he jots down in his mind:

The sky is muted; I must have been hallucinating for a while, for it seems pretty late in the evening. I wonder what that old lady meant—oh boy, does dementia do wonders to the brain! She must have been joking with me. That's right. There is no other way. I couldn't possibly be projecting my hallucinations onto the real world. They had left. The temporary inhabitants of my mind had left. They are not returning.

I wonder why people must compare themselves to others. History is probably the answer. Colonization, imperialism. Every time we see something foreign, we must act superior in order to sate our own pride. The color of my skin happens to be a few shades darker. Why does that matter? The color reminds me of the mottled brown-black soil near the cemetery. It's so far away that I can't see it anymore, but I can imagine her resting, drifting far into the sky, leaving just a few gleaming mushrooms in her place. It puts a smile on my face to imagine that Olive and her are waiting patiently for me up there. Who knows? With a mind as ruined as mine, maybe I'll see them soon. Maybe we are on the same dimension and I have yet to find them.

Just like that, with aimless thoughts in my head, I find myself strolling past the doctor's cottage. I hear him whistling at work as he whittles, probably creating another marionette to play with during his free time. It disturbs me, a bit, to see them dangling all lifeless and floppy from the hangers, but who am I to judge? We all have our dark secrets. We just might not know them yet. His little chimney breathes puffs into the closing night sky. It is getting dark. I don't think I'll bother the doctor again; maybe I'll wait for his underclassmen to come before I ask for help. Medical expenses pile up horrible quickly. I haven't been working either. Not like money means much when you're so far away from the rest of civilization.

A gentle night breeze drifts past me as I make my way back. Evenings in Akrasia are relaxed and serene. Up above, a sea of diamonds twinkles down at me. How magnificent. I'd been used to city lights twinkling outside my room instead, but this rural change of pace is surely welcome. A chorus of cicadas and toads breathe life into the forest path, prodding me along my way. Did Olive and Heather live like this before? Evening strolls, holding hands? Midnight rendezvous? Watching a round moon paint each others' faces silver?

Surprisingly, I don't feel jealous. Dreams of eloping with Heather had been my respite, my oasis in a dearth of romanticism, but I easily see the two of them in the clouds, prancing and frolicking like they used to, lost in their own world. Truly, I never had a chance. However sweet, she was but a mirage to me, seeing me that way no more than a sister sees a brother. That's right. We were family. I can't say I didn't love her, because I did. With every ounce of my heart, I wished to wrap her in my arms and hold her forever. Even now, I still wish she were with me. But a little voice in me (probably not a delusion, this time) knew that Heather would be happiest with Olive. Perhaps that's why my love remained unrequited. Perhaps that's why I never told her how I felt. Or maybe that is the excuse I thought of to fill the gaping hole in my chest. She was truly gone, and the Heather of my delusions was nothing more than my fantasy.

I blame the change of seasons. Am I really getting so old that a shift in weather makes me nostalgic? It'll be summer soon. The mosquitos and june bugs will fill the air; cicadas and crickets will sing deep into the night. I think Heather died happily. I don't think Olive did. I hope they found each other. If anyone can make her happy in the next life, it's Olive. It's not me, and that's ok.